Lockdown
by HesMines
Summary: Who was Tony texting when he ran from the Humvee in IM1. Just a little Drabble stemming from my two year old's current obsession with Marvel!


**I'm going through a rather shitty time at the moment, have been since last October. Occasionally I find the willpower to work on things, more often than not, I don't. My two year old is currently going through a Marvel phase. Iron Man is her favourite. This came from the thirty odd rewatches in the last few weeks!**

**Oh, and I had another baby. He's eleven weeks old and mostly completely unrelated to my shitty time 3 (Pregnancy tries to kill me. Literally.)**

Tony tried to ignore the explosions behind him as he ran for cover, all those years of training sessions that Pepper made him go through flashing to the front of his mind.

He'd been around explosions before. Had his own close calls in the R&D department.

He'd just never had them aimed _at_ _him_.

He threw himself behind a decent sized rock, one that looked like it could withstand the explosions, but wasn't too far from the Humvee. That meant he could stay out of the way, but was close enough when reinforcements came.

Where was Rhodey? Was his Humvee hit as well? Was he somewhere in the chaos fighting? What if he wasn't?

Taking a deep breath, Tony pulled out his cellphone. They'd talked about this eventuality. Pepper was insistent he needed to realise he wasn't bulletproof.

He was Tony Stark. He never thought he'd have to use it.

_Settings. _

_System Access. _

_Lockdown. _

_Enter passcode._

He typed in a string of meaningless letters and numbers with ease.

He heard the beep indicating that the distress signal had been sent with a GPS marker showing his location, that his office and mansion were going into lockdown, that bodyguards were being sent to collect Pepper - wherever she was - and he really hoped her plans didn't include a date.

A fraction of a second later another text box appeared.

_Initiate device lockdown._

Tony didn't pause as he entered the second passcode. This would ensure that his cell could only be used for outgoing calls to the emergency services and four predetermined numbers (Pepper, Obie, Rhodey and SI's private hostage negotiator). No access to Stark information, servers or his contact list.

He'd made a small tweak to the software though.

Before the lockdown was fully enforced, he'd have a minute to send a text message to a predetermined contact.

Of course it was her.

The message thread appeared instantly, along with a countdown timer in the corner letting him know how long he had left. If he didn't complete the message by the time it ran out, whatever he had typed would send.

Fifty seven seconds remaining.

Another explosion, this one was closer.

He didn't waste any time.

_I was going to take you out for cocktails. I'll be really pissed if I can't do that. _

He paused. Forty seconds remaining. Did he really want to say that. He was coming home. He had time.

Didn't he?

Another explosion. Even closer.

What the hell. She already knew anyway. He thinks.

Thirty six seconds.

_Don't start job hunting just yet P-_

Tony flinched as he heard the telltale whistle that signaled an incoming missile. He recognised the pitch, and hoped to god he was wrong.

Looking frantically towards the source of the sound, Tony felt his heart fall through his feet. This was Stark Tech. He was being attacked by his own weapons. And this missile. This had been last year's flagship.

He was Tony Stark.

_Of_ _course_ he designed absolutely impenetrable bulletproof vests.

Then _of course_ he had to one up himself and design a weapon that could pierce even that.

And _of_ _course_, that was sitting mere feet from him. Screeching. Beeping.

Okay.

Maybe he wasn't coming home from this one.

Instinct kicked in, and Tony curled in on himself in a vain attempt to avoid the shrapnel he knew was coming.

He was aware of the explosion a millisecond before it happened.

And then he was on his back.

_Pepper_. Her face suddenly swam into focus across his vision. He felt the blood seeping into his shirt as the heat spread.

He wasn't going to take her for cocktails.

He wasn't going to argue with her about the other girls, or missed meetings, or signing paperwork. He wasn't going to torture himself every time he watched her walk away.

She'd be okay.

He had a will. Everything was hers anyway.

But as the world started to fade to black around him, he hoped she'd rather have him.


End file.
